


Alternate Scene: what could've happened

by OneWhoTurns



Category: Oxenfree (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Banter, Bartenders, Biting, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Hair-pulling, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Fanfiction, Laughter During Sex, Light Dom/sub, Light Masochism, Marking, No Sex, Smut, Teasing, Voice Kink, here come the content tags, if you squint real hard, ish, just barely, look one of them is very obviously kinkier than the other, playful, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22154524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns
Summary: (While I was waiting for a reply inHoly Spirits, I wrote this potential sequence of events that may have come to pass. It's not canon to the fic (though that has it's own sequence of eventsfrom ch22 on), and it's not complete, but I'm still quite happy with what was written and felt like sharing. Excuse if it cuts off rather suddenly, my cowriter returned and we finished up writing the lead-up together (and then I wrote another 12 page smut scene that will likely be posted as a deleted scene from a fade-to-black). Hope you enjoy!)A potential sequence of events, all thanks to a Princess Bride drinking game, a bottle of tequila, and way too much unresolved sexual tension for two friends to bear.
Relationships: Alex/Jonas (Oxenfree)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Alternate Scene: what could've happened

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Holy Spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20562917) by [HammieSlice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammieSlice/pseuds/HammieSlice), [OneWhoTurns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns). 



> So this is the alternate version of a smutty sequence of events. If some lines sound similar to how they ended up in the final, or in some of my other works, it's because I stole them from myself xD 
> 
> Excuse the blatant biting kink. It was warned for in chapter 22. 😂
> 
> (It is intended as a replacement for some of the events in the aforementioned chapter 22, and references events from earlier in the fic.)

It starts with Jonas getting on her case about skipping a shot. 

“Pshhh, no!” Alex kicks at him where he sits at the foot of the couch, smirking as her heel knocks against his temple and he shoots her a disapproving look, grabbing at her ankle to pull her foot away from his face. 

“I think you think I don’t notice, and I assure you: I do.” 

She lets out another long dismissive breath. “Pshhhhhhhh.” Trying to flail her foot again is no good, since he just pulls it farther from his head, so she’s forced to scoot toward him to try to poke at him with her other foot. 

“Look, I’m happy to let it pass ‘cause you’re obviously too scared to go up against me in a real contest, but just know that _I see you._ ” Even if he’s glaring, that wry smile is at least a little entertained as he pulls her other foot away from him as well, and Alex lets out a drunken noise somewhere between giggle and snort as she’s dragged down the leather couch in his attempt to keep her from kicking him in the head. “I’m an injured man, Alex, you’re supposed to be extra nice.”

“You can take it,” she teases, smirking as she wriggles into a better position to keep watching the movie, having to get almost upright again, though she’s still slouched back against the back of the couch. 

“Well of course I can take it, we train for this sort of thing.” The words come with a casual confidence that always throws her off. How easily he keeps up the too-convincing play along with her angel accusation. 

Her knees are hooked over his shoulders now, swinging a little, as their attention returns to the movie and to trying to keep up with the rules of the game. Alex winces- “‘Not to 50!’ God, that should be a drink.”

Jonas nods, “Agreed.” And then there’s a shot handed back to her over his shoulder, and it’s not the cleanest trip-

“Shit, whoops,” Alex leans forward to wipe at the splash of tequila spilling over the skin just above her knee, but stops. Because he’s already already done his shot and has decided to help clean up the rest of hers. With his mouth. 

Alarms are going off in her head, but they’re quieted, muffled by a quarter bottle of tequila and shitload of wary astonishment ‘cause _Jonas’s mouth is on her thigh._ She is suddenly all too aware that his head is between her knees - even if he’s facing away from her - and that she’s wearing his boxers with a whole lot of nothing underneath. 

She can blame the blush on the alcohol. That’s believable. Besides which, he isn’t even looking. Once he’s lapped up the trickle of booze, tongue running over skin, his attention is back on the screen again. So her head-to-toe flush is probably invisible to him. Unless he can feel it heating her skin. Alex isn’t even sure if she’d mind that. 

The thought makes her shift a little, slightly nervous, and the motion only makes him hold tighter on to her shins. “Stop squirming, this is the good part.”

“The whole thing is the good part,” she retorts. But God, okay. There’s something about his tone. Maybe it’s just ‘cause she’s a sucker for confidence and for an authority she can poke at - or maybe it’s ‘cause she’s drunk - but it’s really hot. And now she can’t stop that train of thought. His hands on her legs - fitting around her calves, thumbs absently kneading a subtle massage into the muscle there. Big hands. Hands that could so easily work their way up her legs. 

Fuck. 

Okay, not helpful. 

Sure, she’s keeping her face - her mouth - away from his, but her thoughts aren’t exactly about _kissing_ at the moment. 

There’s no way she can’t feel self conscious now, and she once more feels the need to shift in her seat— and again, he’s holding on tight. It’s a feeling she likes more than she should, and a noise slips from her lips that’s not exactly an appropriate response to the action on screen. 

Alex’s lips shut quick, holding her breath, but Jonas’s hands have frozen in place. He’s not looking back at her, but his head isn’t moving, either. Like he’s just ceased functioning. Something she’d find endlessly entertaining if she weren’t trying to be good. 

Then, his hands slip down to her ankles, and her breath catches as her toes point and flex anxiously. 

“Stop wiggling.” It’s another command, even if it comes out almost experimental, paired with a squeeze of his grip, and that noise is drawn out of her again. She can’t stop watching his hands, thinking about them, about his mouth, about his voice. Shit. 

“Ssss-” Wait that’s out loud, shh. _Stop it, Alex. Stop thinking about it. It’s not gonna happen._ But if it’s not gonna happen is there _really_ anything that wrong in thinking about it? _Yes._ Yeah but like… really? _Yes._

“Hm?”

“Nothing.”

“‘True love,’ that’s another.” 

“Already?” The whine is more habit than actual resistance, as she’s already leaning forward, holding out her shot for a refill. 

And okay, maybe she’s a little disappointed when he lets go of her ankles - just a little bit, even if there’s some relief in there as well - but he needs a hand for the bottle and—

Alex swallows another involuntary noise as he grabs her by the wrist, tugging her further forward so he can hold her hand still and fill her glass. She catches herself from tumbling all the way off the couch with a hand on the back of his head, a leg hooking around his torso to keep balanced, and lets out a short and giddy laugh at his grumble in response to the unintended smack upside the head. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

She grins. “No. I’m not,” and ruffles his hair a bit. 

“Rude.”

Alex snorts. “Christ, Jonas, if this is news to you you really haven’t been paying attention,” she teases, tugging at a lock of hair. 

It’s his turn to squirm out of her grip, shooting her a look over his shoulder, jostling enough to-

“Wait it-” Too late, another little splash of tequila down the side of her hand, and Alex pouts. “You’re wasting the good stuff, J-” Her words stop as he once again is licking the spill from her skin, tongue sliding up her wrist and over the back of her hand all the way to the rim of the shot glass. Dammit.

“What?” He’s got a bemused look on his face as he glances at her, and Alex tries to pull out of his hold. 

“Stop that.” Blame it on the alcohol. That’s totally why she’s warm all over. Not ‘cause he’s looking at her with that playful suspicion, a firm grip on her wrist…

“Stop what, this?” It’s not quite a smirk, but awfully close, as he watches her pointedly, retracing the path his tongue took seconds ago. Her biting her lip, ankle hooked tighter around him, only makes him laugh. “Wow, Al, really? That’s what does it for you?”

Alex rolls her eyes, tugs at his hair again before trying once more to pull out of his grasp. “Angel, you have no idea.” He lets her go, and for a second she’s a little disappointed, a moment of possibility flashing in her mind that ended with a lot more tequila spilled. And a lot more cleanup. 

“Then tell me.”

She’s scooting back into her original spot on the couch when she looks to him in surprise. He’s glancing back at her briefly before turning his eyes back on the tv. “…What?” Is he… did he…? 

Jonas shrugs. “You keep making such grand claims, like you’re the most depraved demon on the planet, but like… I just don’t see it?” He shoots her a smirk over his shoulder, and Alex’s stomach backflips.

She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, but-” She’s a little nervous, “You’re not in here.” Alex taps the side of her head, smile a little crooked. With someone else, this would be easy. Titillating, even, to detail out those top-of-the-list fantasies that swam through her head. With Jonas, though… That’s not a Friend Thing. That’s a very… not-friend thing. A more-than-friends thing. 

He looks too pleased with himself when he looks to her again, never turning his body away from the television. “What, like you don’t keep joking about wanting me inside you?” There’s a slight snort as he looks back to the movie, but she doubts either of them are paying it much attention at this point. 

“Okay.” Okay. Fine. If that’s what he thinks he wants. “You already know I’d fuck you.” She’s not even pretending to watch the movie, not at this point. There’s been another interruption, but neither of them brought up that they should be drinking. 

Jonas shrugs, and Alex’s eyes go straight to the play of muscles across his neck, his shoulders. “Doesn’t sound like anything out of the ordinary.”

She laughs a little. “Wow, okay, I see I’ve managed to boost that confidence, then.”

“Whoever said I had a confidence problem?” His finger is running absently along the lip of his shot glass, and Alex tries to focus on that.

“Fair enough.” She’s torn. On the one hand, this could severely fuck up their friendship. On the other hand, this is a challenge, and she likes to win challenges. And somehow she’s grown a third hand, and that third hand is clenched in a melodramatically triumphant fist that _this is somehow very very hot._ Shit. 

The finger circles and circles the glass, and Alex wonders if he’s staring at the screen to keep from looking at her - and if so, if it’s to spare her some embarrassment, or to hide something on his own face. God, she kind of hopes it’s the latter. “…Well?” It’s like he’s calling her bluff. “‘ _I’d fuck you_ ’ isn’t exactly Penthouse-forum level confessions, Al.” 

“I want you to fuck me.”

He pulls an unimpressed face, and it’s too casual. “Okay, putting it on _me_ now, huh? Why should I do all the work?” It’s like she isn’t even fazing him. He’s just pushing her buttons, taunting her. 

His gaze is still firmly fixed on the tv, but she’s just staring at the side of his head. He wants her to up the ante? Okay. “I want you to do your stupid little hoisting bit, throw me on the bed, hold me down and fuck me hard.” Her heart is racing. 

“Sounds pretty standard. Nothing all that special.”

Fuck. Okay. Okay, fine. Alex’s breath is too shallow, face heating, but she goes on. “I want your tongue sliding down my body, your thumbs bruising my hips, and I want to scream your name loud enough that the landlord will have enough noise complaints to threaten you with eviction.”

There’s a second of silence. That ghost of a half-smile is still on his lips, but Alex worries it’s frozen there. “…Go on.”

Jesus fucking Christ. She can’t tell who’s winning. It feels like him, even with the way his tone dropped, voice not-quite-strained. She doesn’t mind. “Tied down, reduced to moans and whimpers by your hands, your mouth, until all I can do is beg you to let me come.” Shit. Alex swallows hard. She’s vaguely aware her voice is quieter, lower, caught somewhere between chest and throat. 

“Hm.” 

That… that doesn’t sound good. Alex feels herself blushing, manages a weak laugh. “You asked. Just… speaking my mind.” 

“Dirty mind.”

“Yep.” Her response is a little too high, that same forced casual. Jonas’s smirk has fallen to something more contemplative. When he turns his gaze to her, she quickly looks away, breath stopped, and adjusts her head back on the armrest to stare at the ceiling. “You asked for it,” she reminds him again, a little defensively. 

“I did.”

She can’t read his tone, and she so badly wants to examine his expression, try to interpret, to measure whether or not she made a huge mistake. Involuntarily, she clears her throat, and then feels utterly transparent for it. 

There’s too much silence. The movie’s long forgotten. The tequila is long forgotten. 

Alex reaches for the remote on the coffee table, “Should I rewind? I can just-”

“What else?”

She blanches, blood rushing in her ears, and fumbles her hold on the remote, pointedly avoiding looking at him now, cause she can tell, in her peripheral vision, that he’s turned to face her. “Hm?” The syllable is tight and strained and so incredibly fake, blue hair shielding her face as she reaches down for the dropped remote, though she only sets it back on the table. 

“Alex.” 

Fuck. Fucking hell. That _tone_. That tone alone could melt her. _Is_ melting her. Alex has her lip caught between teeth, toes doing their little point-and-flex as she tries not to squirm, settling back onto her back and carefully staring at the blades of the ceiling fan to avoid his eyes.

He still has that firm tone as he continues; “Tell me what-”

“Touch me.” Her eyes have closed. It’s not quite the same voice as the first time she begged him. It’s not fearful, the desperation isn’t covering a manic need to escape. It’s still desperate, but it’s spoken on an exhale of breath, like she’s too scared of his reaction to give the words too much form. But excited. Not on the verge of tears, but teetering on the edge of a moan. “I want you to-” And then she does moan, though it’s more like a whine, because his hand is resting on her ankle. Such a small touch shouldn’t feel so good. Maybe it’s just all the talk. Her hips shift, adjusting her legs, and he quickly lifts his hand away before she raises her foot to follow his retreating hand. “Tighter.”

He stops his retreat as her skin touches his again. She can feel his hesitation, but then his fingers close around her ankle, pushing it back down onto the couch, and Alex lets out a sigh, tugging at his grip just to test it. He doesn’t let go and she bites at her lip again, and again that telltale point and flex to her toes. Tentatively, his other hand mirrors the first, but as soon as she squirms a bit his grip tightens there, too, and she can feel her pleased flush, knowing how her pupils dilate even if he can’t see. 

The angle of his hands adjusts, and she hears the noise of the fabric as he stands, then feels him settling onto the couch by her feet. She draws in a tight breath, back arching, hips pressing down into the cushions and arms in excited fists at her sides. There’s one more squeeze at her ankles before his hands start to rise, and Alex lets out another little noise, something between excitement and anticipation. Fingers curve around her calves, his thumbs dragging up the center of her shins, her knees, her thighs, and she squirms for a second before they skim too lightly over the fabric of her (well, his) shorts to rest on the bones of her hips. _Your thumbs bruising my hips._ He seems hesitant to grab that hard, but it’s enough for her to think of it, and her back is bowed toward him, not quite whimpering but close. 

“Jesus Christ.” His voice is soft— surprised maybe, or even awed. Like he’d never expected her to be quite so… responsive.

Then he shifts again, and she’s tugged down the couch with a delighted squeak as he straddles her thighs, and she finally opens her eyes. 

He’s staring at her, eyes somehow too dark and too bright all at once, face flushed from the alcohol and the— whatever this is. His brow is furrowed a bit in concentration, breath visibly heavy. Alex, meanwhile, is freshly grinning, and that seems to draw a bit of a smirk from him. “…You really are something.”

“Hell yeah I am,” she breathes excitedly, with that same smile like she’s sharing some kind of inside joke. Playful hands, no longer self-restrained, begin to walk teasing fingers up his thighs, but Jonas quickly takes hold of her wrists, leaning over her to pin them on either side of her head, watching the sheer euphoria the action causes. 

“Kind of a tame kink, Alex,” he teases. She smirks right back. “What else?”

“Your mouth,” Alex reminds him, once again shifting eagerly. 

He hums a confirmation, eyes dropping to her lips, thumbs stroking up and down the sides of her wrists. Leaning toward her, lips parting, focused on making their mouths meet, he stops when she’s shaking her head minutely. “No?”

The smile on her face is too playful to be truly sheepish as she bites at her lip, chewing the inside of her cheek. When Jonas raises a skeptical brow, she gently pulls one hand free (and he’s perfectly happy to release her), and her thumb comes up to brush over his cheek. As it rests briefly against his lips, Jonas snaps playfully at it, making her hand pull away even as she smiles. Then her fingers are tracing down the side of his neck, thumb tapping hard on his collarbone before stroking in one firm line up the side of his throat. 

He seems to be gradually putting the pieces together, looking amused, and lowers his face to her shoulder, to where his too-large shirt is loose around the collar. His mouth passes over bare skin and Alex shivers delightedly, rewarding him with a happy sigh, her fingers slipping into his hair and giving a firm and encouraging tug. “Harder.”

His tongue works over her - shoulder to neck - and she’s whining, wiggling, combing through his hair, knee lifting to run her thigh along the inside of his, making him shift as well. It’s nice - nicer than nice - but— “Ow!” He’s laughing, though, as he pulls back to shoot her a jokingly admonishing look after her rather hard tug at his roots. “What was that for?”

“ _Harder._ ” It’s less request and more demand. Alex’s eyes are lit with a kind of fervent energy, breath not quite a pant, pupils blown as she adds. “Mark me.” 

Frankie never let her leave marks, and rarely if ever left a mark herself. Always Alex had felt subtly shamed for the rush she got from the little spots of soreness, pressing on them the next day in a reminder of a time well-spent, or for wanting to brag of her conquest in some weird way, to prove she was so thoroughly used by someone. She’d gotten groused at on more than one occasion for getting a little over eager and leaving a smudge-like bruise on her girlfriend’s skin. But she wanted more than just smudges. 

There’s a slight quirk to his lips, a quizzical amusement as he looks at her, and Alex feels herself blushing a bit. Like she could blush any more. “Oh shut up,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes. Like she needs to be kinkshamed by another partner.

Wait, no, not partner. That’s a huge assumption, nope, don’t do that. Friend. Friend, not partner. 

Friend that has her pinned to the couch, writhing beneath him. 

Sure. _Friends._

“Didn’t say anything.” His tone is a tiny bit smug, but Alex is unamused, even as he’s grinning at her. “Besides, pretty sure you don’t want my mouth _closed_ , do you?” 

Her eyes narrow and she uses her free hand to flick Jonas in the ear— and he jerks his head away before grabbing that wrist again to pin it like the other. 

“I don’t consent to pain, princess,” he teases with a squeeze of his grip; “I’m already damaged enough as is.” 

Alex’s gaze softens, tracing over the cut on his cheek, feeling a soft blossom of heat through her chest. Shit. Feelings. Luckily, she doesn’t have to think about them long. 

“And that seems to be more _your_ thing, anyway.” The words are almost a murmur, eyes flicking to hers, reading her expression before bringing his lips back to her skin again. He’s not kissing her mouth, so… well, at least she kept that promise to herself. But he’s kissing the underside of her jaw, working around to her ear, biting teasingly there and eliciting a shaky breath from her before running his mouth down the side of her neck again. 

“Jonas…” It’s a whine, a reminder that she wanted something else from him. 

There’s hesitation for a second, but then his teeth are on her skin - nipping, sucking - and Alex moans again, thighs pressed together because _it does something to her_ , okay, and- “Fuck-” She’s a little breathless when he goes riskier, harder, a slow and solid bite at the junction of neck and shoulder - and he goes to pull away at her cursing, his worry obvious, but she’s shaking her head, pleading; “Don’t stop.” 

For a moment, she worries he will, but then he’s pressing down again, and Alex feels the rush of endorphins that come from that right type of pain, eyelids falling shut as she focuses on the physical, on the sensations keeping all that tightly wound energy just buzzing under her skin. She doesn’t even realize the noises she’s making - the little shuddering panting breaths - until Jonas pulls back again, mouth breaking from her skin with a wet noise that’s immediately followed by a huff of laughter. 

“Holy shit, Alex, you’re like-”

“Stop laughing!” But she’s laughing too, a little. It’s hard not to. It’s kind of a silly thing to be such a turn on, when it all comes down to it. He’s hovering over her again, and she rolls her head back to face him, trying to glare accusingly, even if the effect is ruined by the smile on her lips. 

“Honestly, not sure that’s possible,” he’s smirking. “Didn’t know you were such a slut for pain, Al.” It’s a joke, of course, accompanied by a reassuring squeeze at her wrists, but it still pushes her buttons. Not bad buttons, though. 

Alex rolls her eyes, that little smile - something not quite sheepish and not quite mischievous - still playing over her lips. “Fine, don’t stop laughing,” she concedes, before her gaze sharpens to a challenge, smile turning to a smirk. “But don’t stop touching me, either.”

“…I think I can manage that.” His eyes are slipping over her again, and Alex can sense their progression, taking in the flush of her face, her neck, the ripening mark above her collarbone. Her pulse speeds, practically _feeling_ how his eyes catch on her chest, on the very obvious protrusions there that suddenly feel that much more painful, aching to be touched. It’s like a circuit of erogenous zones on her body; frazzled wires that spark and itch with need, and her brain is back to its explicit imaginings, her mind’s eye filled with brushes of skin on skin that haven’t happened. Yet. 

Alex chews at her lip, eyes bright, and the motion catches his attention as she arches her back again, as though she can tempt his mouth back to her body. 

“You’re awfully wriggly, you know that?” He’s still got that crooked amused grin, and it’s one she returns with a little more bite to it. 

“All the more reason for you to hold me down, angel.” 

His grip tightens, and she hums something close to a purr. “Only have two hands, Al.” He’s not apologetic, though he does sound a little rueful. 

A leg hooks over one of his shins like she can hold him in place, as she raises the other to slide teasingly up the inside of his thigh, watching him carefully. She spots the second his breath hitches, repeats the action that caused it, the brush against him. “Better use them well, then.” 

There’s another huff of laughter, but it’s less silly and a lot closer to breathless. “What’s that supposed to be, a threat? An ultimatum?”

“I may have some ideas.” 

“Oh really.” Alex feels his gaze focus on her, expression wary, like he’s deciding what to do, and she strokes up his thigh again. His breath is audibly slow, and it feels like a victory. “Do I want to know?”

That feels like an invitation. Her smirk is back in place, playful, the film reel rolling behind her eyes as she considers putting words to the ideas there. “I don’t know, do you?” Image on image. Pornographic. His fingers sliding over her, slipping into her, mouth working at her clit. A grip on her chin and thumb pressing on her tongue, whispering threats in her ear as she straddles him. A strong hand tugging at her hair, forcing her back to bow, pulled against him, all sweat and skin and heat and- 

Jonas’s eyes widen, lips twitching as he laughs again. “What the hell was _that?”_ The noise had been like a mewling whine, and Alex might be embarrassed if she had anything beyond superficial shame.

“If you don’t like my noises, find a way to shut me up,” she jibes. “I can think of a few things besides _words_ that could go in my mouth.” 

“Jesus, Alex,” he’s still laughing. “I mean— fair, but still.” 

There’s a second of wolfish smirk before she simply… opens her mouth. For such a simple gesture, it’s awfully lewd. Soft tongue and wet lips.

“Christ.”

“Like you don’t also have an oral fixation, Mr. _smokes-and-lollipops_.” 

“You want something in your mouth? Fine.” 

He leans forward, and Alex’s tongue is lolling out with that devilish grin, but the manhandling is disappointingly minimal, just freeing up a hand as he pins both wrists together on the armrest above her head. That part she doesn’t mind at all. She snorts a little when she realizes he just did it so his free hand can grab a lollipop from the mug on the table, pulling off the wrapper with his teeth before popping it in her mouth. 

“There. Mouth full.”

She pushes the candy into her cheek, talking around it, a little self-satisfied to get such a reaction, even if- “Would’ve preferred something else, but-”

It’s his turn to look smug, redirecting the stick of the lollipop back between her teeth again. “Suck.” 

Well damn. Okay. She’s not even gonna bother with a _make me_ , because - shit, _okay_. God, she’s gonna save this little memory for later. Fuck. Alex holds his eyes as she makes an exaggerated click with her tongue before closing her mouth around the lollipop again, tongue rolling over and over, spinning the stick in her mouth.

Jonas rolls his eyes at her melodrama, adds a sarcastic, “Good girl,” and a little pat to her cheek, and-

Alex freezes up for a fraction of a second. This motherfucker. Stumbling into trigger phrases he doesn’t even know. Unintentionally making her putty in his hands. (Putty that’s extra elastic, maybe, perhaps a little eager to snap back, but putty nonetheless.) Her eyes widen for a moment before going dark and half-lidded. Her skin breaks out in goosebumps, that familiar pink that’s been coming and going in waves freshly returned, a tiny shiver going through her. _Good girl._

She’s not even sure he notices. 

His gaze, his hand, travels down her neck and Alex’s eyes close for a second, rolling back, imagining how perfectly his fingers fit - _big hands_ \- and shifting her hips again at the prospect of things she knows he’ll never do. A damn shame. But she can imagine. 

God, she wants more. She always wants more. 

Before his hand continues Alex is already wriggling again, scooting further down the couch, letting her arms extend, wrists still held against the armrest, a tiny smirk on her lips as she maneuvers to push the hem of her shirt higher, like she can tempt skin-to-skin contact. 

Jonas shoots her that amused look. She wiggles. He laughs. 

Still, he doesn’t let himself be distracted from his previous plan. Instead of slipping his hand up her stomach, under her borrowed shirt, a finger tugs her collar down, pressing kisses and little experimental nibbles across her collarbone, then lower, until the collar won’t pull down any more, and he’s still too far from where she needs him.

God, her nipples are so hard they _hurt_ , and she’s practically whining around the lollipop in her mouth, arching her back, trying to direct him where she wants. 

Finally - _finally_ \- he lets go of the shirt collar, slips his palm against her stomach—

And stays there.

Another whine, another push toward him, and then she moans as his hand presses her down into the couch, holding her still, and _fuck_ yes- and _oh god_ \- because even if he’s separated from her skin by a layer of cotton he’s nuzzled against her, breath permeating the shirt as he slides down her front before running the edges of his lips over her breast. Her breath is hard and frustrated, wanting to point out how much better it would be for both of them if he just _took off her shirt_ , but Jonas seems intent on teasing until-

It’s one smooth motion, his thumb catching on the hem of her shirt and pulling it up, and then his nose brushes her ribs and then his mouth is on one breast, hand cupping the other. Smooth. But not something she has time to think about because she’s too focused on the sensation of it. The little jolts shooting straight through her every time he grazes a nipple. 

Alex might not be able to have her mouth on him, but she’s certainly going to town on the lollipop, thinking too much of getting his tongue on her clit, and then glancing down and-

Fuck, even _she_ doesn’t understand the noises she makes sometimes. Something desperate and wanton and thankful as his eyes catch hers, skin slipping from his mouth with a wet pop that’s just lewd enough to turn her on even more - if that’s even possible. Fuck it’s hot. He’s hot. And he’s so _good._ Not just good with his hands, with his mouth - which he is, thank God - but Good. As a person. Maybe he won’t use her like she likes to be used, but he also won’t _use_ her, like she _doesn’t_ like to be used. 

Something in the back of her mind is reminding her of that one single promise she made to herself, to keep her mouth away from his, but it’s very very hard to listen to that one tiny _stupid_ voice over her own whimpers of pleasure and the blood pounding in her ears and the throb of _need_ in her. _Touch me, touch me, touch me_ , her pulse seems to beg. _Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._

Jonas’s hand slides down and around, thumb resting on her back and sending a spark of delicious tension rocketing up her spine as she arches toward him again and he quickly shifts attention to her other breast. Teeth brush over sensitive skin and another rush of crackling heat shocks straight to her core and she wants _more._ So much more.

She can’t stand the waiting. As much as she loves being teased, he’s no expert on her yet and hasn’t learned how beautifully torturous denial can be if he’s willing to enforce it. He’s not willing to enforce it now. Which is how she pulls her hands from his grip easily, making him fall a bit as he regains his posture so he doesn’t collapse against her, and she tangles fingers in his hair and is dragging his face to hers-

“Ow- fuck, Alex-” He pulls away with small huff of laughter, untangling his arm from around her to pull the lollipop out of her mouth. “Careful, there’s a stick on that-”

But she’s tugging him to her again, crashing her lips against his hungrily, and he’s finally - _finally_ \- kissing her back. Butterscotch and tequila. For all her lewd displays, the kisses are surprisingly measured. Not to say they aren’t eager and maybe a little violent - teeth grazing over lips and tugging and nibbling - but no shoving her tongue down his throat. They’re oddly precise. She knows what she likes, she goes for it, and what she likes is bruised mouths and panted breaths. 

“Wait-” Jonas pulls away again, that same smile on his lips, “I have to-” He grins at her frustrated whine, leaning back on his knees as he tosses the lollipop onto the coffee table with a look at her like _see, isn’t this better_ , before settling over her again. “Christ, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he teases in a low murmur, lips a grin against her skin as he presses a kiss to the side of her neck. 

Alex’s hands are on him now, one woven in his hair (seriously, fuck, his hair is so soft, it’s so nice) as the other tugs at his collar. “Can’t-” she breathes, half frustrated and half amused, turning to speak against his ear. “-Not wearing any.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” It’s muttered into her neck before he’s biting her again, and Alex doesn’t have time to analyze his tone, to determine how much is attraction and how much is bemusement - or maybe lack of surprise, that she’d choose to share such a fact - because he’s matching his pressure from before perfectly. 

“Careful— angel-” She’s trying to taunt him, but it’s difficult when his teeth are pressed against her skin. “Blasphemy,” is all she manages, before she’s trying to pull him down on top of her, gasping and whining and squirming all over again. “Oh my god, please Jonas-” She’s scrabbling for his arm, trying to put his hand on her skin, to slide it down her belly, but the other one, holding himself steady on the couch, has stretched its fingers and Alex goes limp as they mirror her actions on him from before, taking a firm grip in the hair at the nape of her neck. Another little trigger, another switch. Her pleased hum is still too tight and tense and almost begging as her limbs tremble uselessly. Just a puddle of want. 

She’s a little bit better when he pulls back a bit with the biting, but not much. Her lips are parted, panting, eyes closed and focused on the exquisite mix of sharp pain and firm, secure hold. Happy little tremors run through her, tickling, teasing, making her shake with anticipation. 

His teeth disappear from her skin and she actively shivers. 

“Alex…” 

When her eyes open, glancing to him, her lids are heavy and gaze practically syrupy. Experimentally, his hand tightens in her hair and she shivers again, eyes rolling as she lets out a soft whine. She doesn’t even realize she’s still holding on to his forearm until he’s gently tugging from her slackened grip, fingers sliding down the side of her neck, pressing softly against the reddened skin until she sucks in a long, deep breath, like she’s taking a hit. She’s not far from high, in a way. 

His hand keeps moving, skimming over the fabric bunched around her and tracing his touch down her sternum before cupping a breast, sliding his thumb over the nipple and making her moan again. 

“Alex, look at me.” 

Fuck. Fuck, his voice. Yes. Her eyes flutter open, breath still slow, mouth open and hot, watching him with a kind of helpless want. It’s a sentiment she finds endlessly arousing in that somewhat self-conscious way, even if he doesn’t say the words. _Let me see you. I want to watch you. I want to see what I do to you._

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway, sorry for the sudden end, but… there's a thing! If you feel disappointed, you'll just have to come back when chapter 23-24 (or deleted scene 24, whatever it will be) gets posted. There may be some resolution there. Mayhaps. 😁


End file.
